You Have A Point
by Phases Of Obsession
Summary: "This is probably the first time we've been in the same room without it being tense, awkward, or just plain emotional." "You have a point."


Hello, Gleeks! Here's just another one-shot featuring Rachel-Shelby family fluff.

I don't own.

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It's seven PM. I'm currently lying on my back, on the couch, entertaining the bright-eyed blond baby who is happily giggling as she rides my stomach like it's a pony. She lightly kicks at my sides, finding the act hilarious. God, if only I had an infant's sense of humor.

The doorbell rings, making me jump. I immediately look at Beth, who's face is frozen. I wait and smile, hoping she'll follow my lead and not burst out into tears that would put Miss America to shame. Thank God, she does, and then kicks me again, laughing again.

I gently set her down on the floor amongst her toys and answer the door. There, looking all perky and happy, pink duffel bag in hand, is Rachel. She gives me a big toothy grin and chirps, "Hi, Shelby!"

"Rachel!" I chirp back, feeling her enthusiasm contagious. "Hey. Uh…Long time, no see."

She nods towards the inside of my apartment, her eyes trying to peek past me. "Can I come in?"

Startled, I pull back. "Oh, yeah, yeah, come on…It's a mess. I wasn't expecting company. You didn't call."

She shrugs, putting her bag down and looking around. "Well, I couldn't find your cell phone number—I didn't know if the number was current in the phone book or what so…I just came over, and look, it was smart, because you're home."

"How'd you even find my address?" I ask as she pulls out—why does she have a lunch box with her?

She grins at me and tells me, "Google." Then she promptly skips into the kitchen, opening her lunch box and letting her meal's glorious smells radiate through the room—I haven't had actual food in over two weeks, unless you're counting Chinese take out or Stouffer's—and that seems like it'd be delicious. She opens my cupboards and drawers and asks, "Where do you keep the plates?"

"Right here," I say, scurrying up and grabbing a stack from my right cabinet. She scoops some of her food—it's some sort of curry, from what I can tell—onto a plate, and then another one, I guess for me. I stare at her. "Um, Rachel, not to be blunt—"

"No! Bluntness is appreciated. Blunt is usually the truth."

"Okay, so what're you doing here?"

That smile widens into one of those 'Impressive' smiles. "Well, uh, see, there was this incident a while back that involved a party and—I won't get into that—it really is a boring story—anyway, since then, my dads won't let me stay home alone. It was all fine and dandy until they both had the coincidental out-of-town business meeting in the same week. In different cities. So, they gave me a choice, go with Dad, go with Daddy, or find a responsible adult to stay with (not including my boyfriend's parents). So…I chose you. I mean, you're an adult, and you're somewhat responsible—"

_"Somewhat?"_

"I've heard a lot of stories on the show choir circuit…a _lot_ of stories." She hands me my plate and hops into the living room. Her eyes squint at my TV as she sits down. "You're watching Doctor Who?"

I plop down with her, smiling nervously. "Well, I…It's a guilty pleasure, alright?"

"Oh, I'm not shaming you on it. Me and Daddy watch it nearly every night in the summer and on weekends. He likes the sci-fi part of it; I like looking at Matt Smith."

"Don't we all!" I agree.

Beth is sitting in the floor, staring intently at Rachel. Then she turns to me, those blue eyes all confused and whatnot. I nudge Rachel. "I don't think she knows what to make of this stranger who happens to look like me."

She grins at Beth. "Well, I take that as a compliment," she coos at her somewhat-kinda-sorta baby sister.

I snort. "Well, I think _someone_ is trying to butter me up."

She nods. "You'd be right. I've found that buttering people up is a good way to dispel tensions. And, look, it worked. This is probably the first time we've been in the same room without it being tense, awkward, or just plain emotional."

"You have a point."

"And, I mean, while I know staying happy and goofy and Disney-esque probably won't work in the long run, it should last us at least throughout the next three days."

I raise an eyebrow. "Three days?"

"Yeah—if that isn't okay, I can find—"

"No, Rachel. It's fine. I just…wasn't expecting to have a teenager for three days."

"Oh. Alright. It shouldn't be too hard for you, I mean you tend to teenagers everyday—or you used to—so you should be used to it."

"Again, good point."

"Though I'll admit, it seems that you do just as well with taking a more submissive role in a conversation than you do your usual aggressive stance."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I tell her, mockingly glaring at her. "You caught me off-guard—I was playing with my baby and watching Doctor Who for God's sake!—so that's the only thing saving you from the ole' Hard Ass Coach Corcoran routine. That is literally it. That, and I can't really get a word in."

She has this guilty little pout that almost makes me feel bad, but then I bust out laughing at the pure absurdity of it. She's a teenager. Using puppy eyes. She pouts even harder. "That wasn't funny."

"Um, yeah, it kinda was. You make the most ridiculous faces."

She shoots her little eye daggers at me and deadpans, "Gee, I wonder who I got _that_ from?"

I make the most exaggerated face possible, which causes both her and Beth to erupt in giggles. Then, all of the sudden, startling us all, I hear the strangest noise.

Rachel snorted.

Rachel freaking _snorted_.

Of course, I can't help it, I laugh, all while she's protesting, "It's not funny!" But, in my laughter, I snort as well, proving it as a genetic trait. Huh. I wonder if it's named. The Corcoran Snort Gene. I can already read the description:_ The Corcoran Snort Gene usually manifests in the rare, yet loud, snort upon laughter. While this is the only direct symptom, many carriers often experience a desire to avoid social humor, extreme embarrassment, and even more hatred of their often co-occurring, Turowitz Big Ass Jewish Nose._

Then, with a mood swing that could only belong to that of a teenage girl, she turns her attention back to the TV. She regrows her pout and whimpers, "Oh, this part was so sad…Poor Oswin…"

She puts down her plate and flops against me, sniffling at the sadness of the episode. Of course, once Beth sees a group hug, she lets it known that she wants in by crawling over and reaching up. I pull her up and, somehow, balance my two kids on top of me.

You know, I could really get used to this.

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Please review!


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